


we’re yet to dream.

by 1roomdisco



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Prequel, Strangers to Lovers, short tempered kihyun LOL, str8 shownu, this chapter is rated G, will tag the pr0n later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1roomdisco/pseuds/1roomdisco
Summary: a prequel to showki's crumb eater favorite family!AUpart 1/part 2/part 3.or:how kihyun met hyunwoo, featuring a couple of unfortunate incidents.





	we’re yet to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I'M BACK Bringing what i promised asjkdfkjaskjf
> 
> \- so, so excited
> 
> \- do tell me what you think, u can gimme some ideas to develop the plot  
>   
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is why Kihyun hates drinking anywhere else that’s not the confinement of his studio apartment, with whatever it is playing on Netflix and a huge container of cheese balls by his side. This _dude_ is not even his type. God.

“Cut if off, I said I’m not interested.” Kihyun glares to the innocent glass bottles right across from him, reflecting the ugly creases forming in between his perfectly drawn eyebrows, making him look like an angry little bird.

The lounge music isn’t _loud_. The dude can hear Kihyun perfectly clear, yet he decides to slide an inch closer, resting a twig-like elbow on the marbled bar, his cigarette smoke breath invading Kihyun’s sense as he drawls,

“Come on. We can do this all night, babe, I know you’re on your own.”

As if Kihyun needs a sleazebag stating the obvious for him _and_ for the rest of the patrons who are not giving any fuck about the whole situation. It’s been ten fucking minutes. Kihyun isn’t expecting _any_ help from _anyone_ to tell the dude to fuck off, but not even the bartender? He’s so blacklisting this goddamn flashy establishment.

When Kihyun is not giving him the response he’s been chasing, the dude dares to lay his fucking skeleton hands on Kihyun’s shoulders. By instinct, Kihyun uses all of his power to shove the dude’s face, hard, until he stumbles from the stool, falling on his ass on the floor with a loud thump.

It would be so easy to just stomp his heeled Oxford against the dude’s stomach or better yet his fucking crotch, and Kihyun has already seen _red,_ is actually _thisclose_ to do so—before he’s being pulled by strong hands circling his biceps, a steady voice reminding him that it’s not worth it.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kihyun spats, thrashing his locked arms and trying to crane his neck to look at another stranger touching him. Kihyun only comes up to the new guy’s _neck_ and the position doesn’t allow him to actually see anything.

The dude is getting up, sneering, muttering something about it wasn’t my fault you and your whore lips were beckoning me over and that’s it. Kihyun stops thrashing in the stranger’s hold, only to reach out his left arm to his half-finished Corona bottle when the stranger’s grip loosens. His fingers are grazing the bottle, not minding that he’s always the worst pitcher during gym class a decade ago—but he underestimates the stranger’s power because suddenly he’s being enveloped in the most dramatic backhug he could ever think of; his whole body is trapped by the stranger’s bulking frame, effectively immobilizing him.

And then it’s just humiliation that runs through Kihyun’s boiled blood. He wants to scream. He’s already made a scene anyway.

But _Having a Mini Breakdown in a Goddamn Flashy Gay Bar Just Half an Hour Before My 24 th Birthday_ is never in Kihyun’s list of accomplishments. Nope.

So Kihyun muffles his screaming behind his closed lips, jabbing the heels of his palms to his tired eyes. He’s not going to fucking _cry_.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger offers when he understands that Kihyun has gone pliant in his embrace. Slowly, gently, he lets go, but his arms still hover in the air as if he’s not sure he should let go completely just yet.

Kihyun’s knees are shaking as he climbs on the bar stool. He spares the stranger a glance, scowling at the built body and the expensive, obviously tailored, midnight blue suits. The slim, dark green tie is loosened. The stranger’s neck is the size of Kihyun’s thigh, which is, what? Is that even possible?

The stranger doesn’t sit down on the stool next to Kihyun’s, he stays standing up, keeping a polite distance.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asks, his voice hushed down. Good call. Kihyun doesn’t need any more attention than necessary, no matter how late it is.

“I’m _fucking_ peachy, thanks for asking.” Kihyun answers, rolling his eyes before finishing his beer in one go.

The stranger clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” Kihyun hisses, almost choking on his own saliva. He hates that the stranger sounded like he meant it.

“Uh, sorry.” There’s a grimace from the stranger’s slip. “I’ll leave you alone now. Um, I can call a taxi for you, if you want?”

“No, shut up.” Kihyun sniffs, looks at his reflection on the glass bottles across from him, then at the stranger’s comforting, bulking presence next to him—and says, _hurriedly_ for no reason at all, “It’s my birthday. But not now. Like, in twenty minutes.”

And the response is an automatic but genuine, _Oh, happy birthday_ and the stranger is smiling when Kihyun finally takes a good look at him.

_Ah, he’s totally my type…_

That’s the first thing that comes to Kihyun’s mind.

“Thanks,” Kihyun smiles, telling himself that it’s not a crime to ogle such fine specimen right in front of his very eyes. The stranger is a dream comes true. Built like a tank with handsome, boyish face. Those plump, dry lips. His big, big hands that have righted Kihyun’s wrongs.

“Son Hyunwoo, nice to meet you.” The stranger says, holding up one big hand for a handshake.

And then, like a wave crashing down, Kihyun is so sure he wishes his inner gaydar is not being loud at all:

_He’s straight._

“Yoo Kihyun. Likewise.” Kihyun just nods, keeps his prettiest smile but not bothering with the offered handshake. This man is not even a first-timers. He’s just… _straight_.

He can’t help the snide, “Do you even know where you are, Hyunwoo-sshi?”

There you go. The sheepish grimace.

“I think I finally got some idea, yeah.” Hyunwoo answers, not sounding nervous at all. Which is weird, okay? He’s not even curious or embarrassed or downright disgusted, he looks like he just happens to be here, talking to an angry gay man who had only wanted to have peace after what happened at work today. Kihyun has never met such straight man who keeps his cool in a gay bar, obviously looking so out of place, yet not even entertaining himself by either flirting back to those who approach him or spitting on their face.

It’s not that Kihyun can’t read him; the man is as transparent as a baby.

When Kihyun is a second too late to ask why in the world did you end up here, Hyunwoo smiles and says in a final tone that he should get going, _I hope you’ll have a good day tomorrow, Kihyun-s—_

“Wanna join me for a late night snack?” Kihyun blurts out and refuses to feel embarrassed by the fact that he’s in a great need of a company right now. Someone casual who won’t give him the wholehearted concern his best friend, Hoseok, would. He’s tired. He still wants to talk and find out why in the world did Hyunwoo end up in a gay bar, of all places.

 “I-I feel like having chicken feet.” Kihyun clears his throat, trying his best to appear more open and not so hostile towards Hyunwoo, who’s been kind enough to humor him by waiting patiently.

And for the sake of sounding more appealing, because who knows this might work, Kihyun adds, “Umm, my treat?”

Although Kihyun understands it very well the moment Hyunwoo laughs until his eyes disappear, that Hyunwoo was going to say yes with or without him paying anyway.

The quieter part of Itaewon is cold on late November. Kihyun envies Hyunwoo who’s got a thin scarf wrapped around his thick neck, but fortunately it’s just a five minutes walk to get to the nearest pojangmacha. The place is packed with the likes of salarymen and university students, but they get a table nearest to the stove, and Kihyun sits with his back facing it, relishing the warmth from the ongoing flame. He takes Hyunwoo’s order with him; a sausage, a fishcake and a serving of kimbap rolls. He gets his chicken feet and spicy rice cakes with extra blood sausage. They decide to get a cup of hot barley tea instead of more alcohol.

Now that they’re sitting close and there’s no heavy electronic music and everything is not tuned down with dimmed lighting, Kihyun is pleasantly surprised to find that Hyunwoo looks even more handsome under the pojangmacha tent’s fluorescent lamp. His black hair is short but thick enough to be coiffed, showing his nice forehead and strong eyebrows. Tall nose. Very broad shoulders that don’t look like he needs to work hard to get them, aka Hoseok’s wet dream god bless him.

A handsome yet boyish smile that catches Kihyun off guard.

“So! How did you end up there?” Kihyun yells, unnecessarily so. He slumps on the plastic chair and smushes a piece of blood sausage, pretending to be nonchalant.

Hyunwoo answers after swallowing the last of his kimbap rolls. He eats fast.

“Had quite a gruesome meeting that ran late,” he juts out his bottom lip, probably reminiscing the gruesome part. “Dad sent me here on my own, said I needed to learn. Felt like having a fancy drink or two and ‘Dramarama’, was it? The first place that I could find.”

The heir to Daddy’s company, huh?

But Kihyun asks the easiest question instead, “You’re not from around here?”

Hyunwoo shakes his head. “I haven’t been to Itaewon for years?” he smiles, then asks, “What do you do, Kihyun-sshi?”

“I’m a chef,” Kihyun answers, licking his teeth. “Still a junior, the restaurant I work at is just a subway station from here.”

Hyunwoo nods, and then there’s an awkward silence. Both are busying themselves with the foods, and Hyunwoo gets up once to get a refill for their barley tea. He’s in the middle of slurping the fishcake’s soup when he realizes that it’s ten past midnight.

“Happy birthday, Kihyun-sshi,” he says, his eyes disappearing. “How old are you?”

If Kihyun is with any other person, hell, even with Hoseok, he will address the repeated congratulatory message first, because Hyunwoo already said back at Dramarama. But Kihyun finds himself wanting to appear _sweet_ for the other man, for whatever the fuck reason, and he answers, somehow sounding shy, “Twenty-four.”

“You’re a dongsaeng,” Hyunwoo says, taking the last sip of his barley tea. “I’m just a year older. Wait. You’ve got something just…”

Kihyun holds his breath as Hyunwoo’s big, big hand is reaching out to his face. Hyunwoo uses the knuckle of his index finger to wipe something off from the corner of [Kihyun’s top right lip, squinting his eyes when he realizes that it’s a mole](https://twitter.com/kihoneyi/status/868671328647348225), not crumb.

Just like that, the awkwardness between them dissipates into thin air. They’re giggling like schoolgirls and if Kihyun doesn’t move his feet underneath the table after Hyunwoo knocks them with his, keeping them still as a welcomed presence, neither of them is complaining.

They walk side by side in silence, an inch or so distance between them as they head to the main road. Hyunwoo spots a 24-hour 7-11 just right by the main road and asks if Kihyun wants anything, perhaps a bottle of mineral water? Kihyun joins him inside, browsing through the healthcare section for a hot pack. He takes two extra hot ones that he’s going to keep in the pockets of his bomber jacket, and goes to the cashier where Hyunwoo is taking out his wallet. Kihyun doesn’t protest when Hyunwoo offers to pay for the hot packs.

Hyunwoo gets him a bottle of mineral water, a Toblerone bar and four pieces of classic black and white hairpins, saying that he figured, as a chef, Kihyun would need them so his pretty hair, colored like Toblerone chocolate, Hyunwoo says, won’t get in the way while he creates foods. Kihyun can’t help the smile threatening to split his face into two because Hyunwoo says ‘create’ not ‘cook’ and that just sounds _better_ in his head, okay, even though it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t correct Hyunwoo’s assumption; all chefs working at Monsieur wear a head cover. Kihyun doesn’t actually need any hairpins.

Hyunwoo hails a taxi for Kihyun first, offering a hand for a handshake and beaming when Kihyun reciprocates this time. His grip is strong but not crushing, and he wishes Kihyun a happy birthday once again before opening the taxi’s door for him, bending his knees to wave goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not even 10 PM yet, Jesus Christ.

Kihyun swallows down his anger and counts to ten. His thighs are off-limits. They’re his goddamn erogenous zone and if he was in any other situation, not in a not-so-crowded subway heading home, certainly not with some random dude’s hand _feeling_ his left thigh, squeezing every time the car sways.

When the random dude leans closer to _sniff_ on Kihyun’s neck, Kihyun sees red.

He shoves the ugly face, hard, until the fucking pervert knocks his head on the glass panel, a loud thud accompanying his pathetic shouting and it’s like a comedic scene from a movie when Kihyun looks up, landing his glare to none other than a familiar face who’s in the middle of looking confused, guilty and surprised at the same time.

It’s the stranger from last time. What’s his name again? Kihyun can’t recall.

What’shisname is sitting a few seats over, already on the edge, wearing another pair of expensive suit and his handsome but boyish face, probably on his way to get up and break the scene Kihyun caused, always a little too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # "comments are writer's motivation." - socrates
> 
> # me: please :(  
>   
>   
> 


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